Til You See Their Soul
by shakespeareia
Summary: Sheltered for so long, living a shadow of a life… in the forest, one grows up quickly. Destinies are questioned, and futures are altered. A "What-If" story.


The fire had banked with the hours, leaving behind only a few traces of glowing ash to light the darkness.

Darkness... Dark. She hadn't liked the dark, when she'd been little. No, that was putting it too mildly. It had terrified her, the shadows, the depth, the too-large canvas that imagination could fill with all manner of evil and monsters...

Until that night, when the monsters became all too real, and she'd been locked away in a stone tomb, living death, without a single light to beat away the shadows.

She learned to fight the fear quickly.

Most of their disparate party had bedded down for the night, the gemshorn and rebec tucked safe and quiet in the arms of their diminutive musicians, like mothers guarding their children. The low grunts of muttered conversation could still be heard by the half-dead fire as Gort and Beouf availed themselves of the remaining grog.

Snow allowed herself a quiet smile at their expense as she leaned against her chosen tree-trunk and leaf couch for the night – to think, once she'd drifted to sleep nested in fur, velvet, fine linen... It seemed a dream now, lifetimes ago... in many ways, perhaps it had been...

Her eyes snapped open with a start as something coarse and leathery brushed her cheek, settling along the length of her slight body.

"Mm -?"

"Winters've been 'arsher a'late." Came the gruff reply as a familiar rough-hewn figure thudded down next to her with a rattle of axes. "Ye're no good 'alf frozen."

She blinked, heart fluttering, and tugged the deerskin a little closer with a mumble of thanks. He made no reply, tugging several hatchets from his belt, along with a skin of fish oil. There was no sound apart from the banking embers, the muffled voices of the few still-sober dwarves, and a metallic scraping as the huntsman shaved the daily rust accumulation from his arsenal.

"... Is it easy?" Snow startled herself with her own voice. "Taking lives?"

She had spoken softly enough, for an aching moment she wondered if he'd heard her at all, before the grating of iron abruptly stopped.

"It might've been. Once."

Snow swallowed back her remaining mettle.

"...What's your name?"

He grunted.

"What difference does it make – "

"Please..."

A sigh, and then –

"Eric." He muttered, digging at something in the cloddy soil. "Eric the Woodsman, Eric the Blacksmith, Eric the Huntsman, Eric the damned fool..."

She choked on her words a moment, before pushing on.

What had her father said once?

_Never allow what is closest to your soul to remain enchained, my darling – else it will fester and rot into grief._

"Eric, I... I don't want to kill. I... I want to live. I want a life."

He smirked humorlessly.

"It's no' worth the trouble, I promise ye –"

" – I want to be free, to live, to speak, to love, to _breathe, _I want - "

"Ye think the world gives a damn what _you_ want, your 'ighness? It all sounds very pretty, I'll grant ye, but outside 'o your fairy glens and nursery cradles –"

The barrage came to a sudden halt as Snow pulled herself upright and pressed her mouth to his lips, delicate white fingers cradling his dirt-smudged face.

Within moments it was as if a dam had broken, his scarred hands clutching at her tiny waist, trapping her beneath him on the twisted deerskin. Finn's ugly smile flashed in front of her eyes for an instant as he made quick work of her gown laces, the sound of tearing leather echoing through the quiet night, yet she buried her hands in Eric's unwashed hair and forced her gaze on his face.

It seemed to take only mere moments, and perhaps it did, his body chiseled with hard-earned muscle and brutal scars from men and beasts, the wound on his chest still not quite healed – she could feel the thickening flesh against her breast as he finally rucked her stained shift up and over her head, leaving them skin to skin. Her breath caught in her throat when his hands found her waist yet again, working her hips up as their tongues tangled, her half-frightened whimpers caught in between.

_Hush – you wanted this, you wanted him..._

"Tell me if – it doesn' have ta hurt, if you don't let it." He muttered, stroking her hair back from her brow, and with a flash of confusion – _who _is _he? _– Snow nodded, and clutched the back of his neck, his stench surrounding her, dirt, oil, blood, hard drink, and sweat...

A push, a wince, and her innocence was over. Shudders rippled through her body as she wrapped fragile limbs around him tightly and held on, as if afraid he'd vanish, leaving her bare and vulnerable... Leaving her. Emotions she couldn't quite fathom surged from her belly outward, blood rushing in her veins, her skin seemed to shrink and tighten with every thrust, and Eric was breathing hot against her neck, his beard rough to the touch as it rubbed her cheek raw, both his hands drifting down her waist to her hips, gripping her tightly, guiding her into the rhythm, teaching her the movements as he had taught her to wield a dagger. She kept as quiet as she could, besides her labored breathing and the occasional startled gasp, whimper, Eric grunting into her ear as he rutted.

A sudden tremor went through his shoulder blades, followed by few sharp thrusts before he stilled completely, drawing her pelvis up tight against him. Her breath froze, anxious, uncertain, as she brushed a tentative kiss over the filthy skin of his neck. An uncomfortable tug, a muffled groan, and he pulled away slowly, his face shadowed. Snow lay quietly on the deerskin, trembling, as he scrubbed at his mouth with the back of one hand, spitting over his shoulder before grasping a white thigh in each palm.

"What – " she began, startled, before he slid a hand up her belly.

"Lie back."

Snow did as she was told, still shaking. Her green eyes darted randomly, staring up at the moon before flitting to the trees nearby, the rocks scattered by the food satchels, the dead leaves next to her fingers... crushed suddenly as her hand tightened, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the soil and dry grass as a sound caught between a gasp and a cry escaped her rose-red lips. There was no describing the sensation – wet heat, his and her own, hot breath over flushed skin, heavy with surging blood. His hair brushed across the downy skin of her inner thigh, his enormous hands clutching her waist tightly as she wriggled – but whether to escape or draw him nearer she couldn't say. After what seemed an age, her hips gave a twitch and she screamed, heart pounding in her breast while Eric roughly caressed his way up her body, pulling her in close to his chest and crushing his mouth to her lips in a searing kiss. Her joints seemed liquified as she wreathed her arms about his neck, returning the embrace with as much passion as she could muster, all the strain and tension of the past days that had somehow transformed itself into desire...

Suddenly Eric pulled back, blue eyes almost glowing in the dark but colored with horror, as if he'd only just noticed her. The shock gradually faded, until he managed to pat her shoulder awkwardly.

"... C'mon." he murmured, thick arms wrapping across her back as he half-guided, half-lifted her into a sitting position, dropping her shift into her lap before he shucked up his leggings and gave her dark head a rough pat, as he might a child.

For a long moment Snow could stare after him, shaken, open-mouthed, as he tugged his shirt over his head and made his way back to the fire ring. The cold quickly raised gooseflesh across her skin, the fleeting sensation of delicious lightness and freedom gone within an instant. Twigs crackled near the dead fire, as Gus caught her gaze, wide-eyed, for a brief moment before Gort smacked him upside the head, and he turned his back quickly, a blush rising to both their faces. Her jaw trembling, Snow dug her arms into the pitiful heap of dirty fabric, yanking the torn collar over her head with unnecessary violence, before flinging herself back into her leaf bed, biting her lip as she fought back tears until her eyes finally drifted shut.

* * *

It was barely past dawn when she awoke to find a cold sun glowing over her face, and with a rush of warmth, recognized the weight of a callused, over familiar hand resting on the back of her neck. She twisted round slowly, noticing the bear pelt thrown over her body, and smiled quietly at the sight of her huntsman slumped – still asleep – against the tree trunk, the hand not holding her protectively resting on the hilt of his enormous battle axe.

**A.N. - So, you know how you originally think you're just writing a smutty little one-shot, and then PLOT has to come and worm it's way into your brain? That's what's happened here. No idea how long this will be, I'm just going along for the ride. Hope you all enjoy it too. ;)**


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